


run away

by transrich



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Coming to terms with his sexuality, Homophobic Language, Internalized Biphobia, Internalized Homophobia, Lots of it, M/M, Religious Guilt, Stream of Consciousness, Suicidal Thoughts, This isn't happy, but abrupt ig, but also not a lot just one line, but not a lot, i wrote this in half an hour and refuse to reread it before posting, idk if its an ambiguous ending, just felt like putting something out there, no beta we die like men, really short, richie's internal ramblings, the werewolf metaphor is acknowledged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26625967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transrich/pseuds/transrich
Summary: richie's stream of consciousness as he struggles to come to terms with his sexualitypls read the tags, there's a lot of internalized homophobia and slurs involved in this
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, but not really - Relationship, just a crush - Relationship
Kudos: 20





	run away

**Author's Note:**

> this style of writing is definitely not for everyone but if you enjoy rambling and run-on sentences this one is for you  
> hope y'all enjoy as much as you can enjoy this kind of thing

Richie hated himself. God, he hated himself. Why did he have to keep everything in, pushing it all down until the pressure built up too much and it all exploded in one messy, runny stream of word vomit? He hated himself for not being able to just _say_ it, that he was a faggot, a queer, a fucking pussy, God, why couldn’t he just say it? Why did he even give a shit what the town thought? Well, no, it wasn’t that he cared about the town. He’d been bullied for everything else, his buck teeth and his stupid shirts and his coke-bottle glasses and his running mouth and dumb jokes; the fact that he liked dick wouldn’t change any of that. Just one more piece of ammo, one more knife stuck deep in his ribcage. He’d made it through all that taunting—barely, but he’d made it—so it wasn’t that. No, it wasn’t that. It was the idea that they’d leave him. They all knew Eddie was gay, but nobody wanted to say it, least of all Eddie. That was the test, to see how they’d all react, but he wouldn’t come out and say it either, ‘cause he was just as much of a pussy as Richie was, just another little sissy boy, so Richie had to just shut up and wait for someone else to bring it up. But even though they’d never said anything against fags, he had the sneaking suspicion they would suddenly care once it was one of their own. Hiding in their group, preying on all of the five boys and even the one girl, and wasn’t that even more fucked, ‘cause he couldn’t even pick one, he had to go for both, but wouldn’t that be easier too, ‘cause then he could at least roll through life on unlimited pussy and he could just keep hiding the whole queer part until he died and nobody would ever have to know.

He was sick, and fuck, that made him feel like Eddie, constantly whining that something was wrong with him and he didn’t feel well and his mother would kill him if he came home with another sickness. _Yeah, well, my Catholic ma’s gonna kill me too when I come home with this one,_ Richie wanted to choke out, but he just ended up covering it with a noogie and a vulgar comment that always had Eddie rolling his eyes and then it was forgotten, just the two of them smiling at Richie’s stupidity and shit, Eddie’s smile was something else. It was, goddamn, it was sunshine and rainbows and all that cheesy shit in all those girly songs, and he was fucking terrified of it, ‘cause if his _smile_ did all that to him, gave him those butterflies and dizzy feelings and all the rest of that cheesy shit in all those girly songs, what would the _rest_ of him do to him? He didn’t let himself think about that too much, but it was hard not to when they were pressed up against each other in the hammock and Eddie’s shirt rode up from constantly squirming because he could never stay still—and they thought _Richie_ was hyperactive but they’d never paid any attention to Eddie, ‘cause Richie always stole the spotlight by being loud but if they did they would’ve seen how Eddie could never just stay still—it was impossible to think about anything else. He hated himself for that too, that shit that was already bad in his mother’s eyes and the church’s but then it was even worse ‘cause it wasn’t even about girls, it was about boys, and about one boy in particular, and Christ, he’d seen that old movie about the teenage werewolf and wanted to puke.

That fucking werewolf scared the shit out of him, and half of it was that the old-timey makeup was creepy as hell, but the other half was ‘cause the poor kid didn’t ask to be a werewolf, he couldn’t control it, but everyone just thought he was a monster anyway. Everyone was terrified of him for something he couldn’t even control, and how fucked up was that? That was him, that would be him if he ever said anything about it, and he didn’t want that to be him, he really didn’t. He already disappointed his mother enough as it was, he thought that might give the poor woman a heart attack. She wouldn’t even understand the liking _boys_ thing, much less the liking _both_ thing, and Richie didn’t think he’d ever be able to explain it in a way she’d understand, so he was just going to stay quiet about it forever and ever until he blurted it out in the middle of a fight like he had with Bill and _fuck_ , that’s where this had all started, hadn’t it?

They’d been arguing about something stupid, and like teenage boys tended to do, they escalated it until they were at blows with each other, real hurtful shit, and Richie had yelled something about Georgie and Bill’d yelled something back about disappointing his mother, and then Richie had just said it, _Believe me, I know, I’m a fucking queer, she’d be more disappointed in that than anything_ , and then they’d both gone silent.

 _You’re a qw-qw-queer?_ Bill had stammered out in disbelief after a while, ‘cause the poor kid couldn’t get through a full sentence without stuttering to save his life, and Richie had pulled his shoulders all the way up to his ears before dropping them and walking right out the door. He’d started walking, then jogging, then sprinting for dear life, his eyes too blurry with tears behind his glasses to even know where he was headed and his body had somehow navigated him to the Barrens and he just collapsed on the shore, rocks poking at his ass ‘cause it was all dirt and rocks, that’s all it was, but then at least he could focus on the rocks poking his ass instead of what he’d just blurted out to Bill. But his mind raced, it always did, and it wasn’t long before his thoughts circled back to it and he started crying all over again and fuck, didn’t that just prove even more how much of a little faggot he was, ‘cause boys didn’t cry unless they were sissy faggots, that’s what Bowers had said when he broke the glasses right off Richie’s face in seventh grade and fat tears ran down his cheeks. _You’re a little sissy faggot, Tozier, keep crying and I’ll punch the tears off your goddamn face,_ he’d said, and Richie couldn’t stop crying so he’d gone home with broken glasses and a black eye to boot, and his mother just clicked her tongue and said _Do you know how much those cost us, your father can’t work fast enough to keep up with all of this, Richie,_ like she hadn’t even seen the black eye or maybe she just hadn’t cared. Would she care? If Richie told her? Or would she just ignore him like she did with all the other words that came out of his mouth?

Richie pushed his glasses into his knotted hair and pressed his palms against his eyes and exhaled shakily through his chapped lips and what was he supposed to do next? Go back to Bill’s and take it back or wait for Bill to bring it up or wait for Bill to tell one of the other Losers or all of them and then he’d just get kicked out, too much of a loser even for the Losers’ Club, and he pushed off the rocky shore with his palms, ignoring the cuts and scrapes, and walked right into the river in his sneakers and jeans and everything. God, he wanted to just drown himself and end it all right then and there, but a sick part of him wanted to see what would happen if he just threw himself right in the middle of it, and so he walked down the river, the water never coming above his calves, and walked out of the river and into the woods and down the ladder and laid in the hammock and waited for someone to come find him.


End file.
